


Once Upon An East End

by JulietsEmoPhase



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Muggle, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mild Language, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 05:00:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3838039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulietsEmoPhase/pseuds/JulietsEmoPhase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bistro owner Harry is closing up for the night when a young man stumbles through his door in need of help. The night takes them in a direction neither had expected. </p><p>Muggle AU. Slash: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy.  One shot, romance, rated M for language, intimacy, and hinted past abuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon An East End

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first Drarry fic I wrote for my alternative account over on ff net (also julietsemophase) because I had recently fallen down the Tumblr Drarry hole. I've shipped them for years, but the Squad really know how to poor gas on a naked flame, and now I'm full on obsessed. In particular, this fic was written for Leia aka DIYDrarry who first got me into this madness, and is also the sweetest human being on the planet. I'm so glad you liked it my darling! 
> 
> So I wanted to try my own take on the whole cafe owner genre (I had no idea this was a thing but I love it). I also wanted to address some slightly darker themes because I think that makes the fluff fluffier if it's born out of something a little sad. Nothing too traumatic though I promise!
> 
> There's not much smut in this one, it's just alluded to mostly. I had to build up to naughty sexy times but I'm a pro now! So please check out my other works too if you prefer it slightly raunchier in the bedroom department ;-)
> 
> Anyway, enough from me, please now read and enjoy! xJx

Once Upon An East End 

 

  

   The rain was pounding against his cold skin.  Draco Malfoy ran, panting, trying his best to hold onto his calm as he shot looks over his shoulder into the night.  _He was fine, he was fine now,_ he told himself.  _It was nothing, this was something that happened to all Londoners._

   Still, he couldn’t help but feel the thrill of relief as he cornered the edge of Victoria Park and saw the beginnings of a little village.  A dozen or so establishments with darkened windows crowded the roundabout in the middle of the road; a fish and chip shop, a delicatessen, a couple of pubs, and a book store, all hidden partially behind trees that loomed over Draco as he slowed to a halt in the rain, and all, apparently, closed. 

   Only in East London could you turn a corner into a quaint suburb just moments after raving it up on a Saturday night.

  Well, he wasn’t sure losing at a pub quiz with Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson quantified as ‘raving it up’, but the way his dignity currently stood, he was prepared to argue it did. 

   How long had he been running?  Five minutes, ten?  And so far, no sign of life.  There was something to be said for going out in central; places like Soho never stopped.  But in this little corner of the East End, everything wound down around eleven o’clock, more like a small town than a big city.  Leaving Draco fat out of luck.

   _There!_ He realised with a jolt one of the buildings _did_ have some lights still on.  Was there anyone inside, would they maybe help him?  There was only one way to find out. 

   The lights belonged to a little bistro and Draco pelted towards the front door, heart in his mouth as he slammed his fist against the wooden frame and hammered, rattling the glass as the rain lashed down.  He was prepared to yell and cuss, but the door popped on its roller and swung inwards, unlocked despite the closed sign on the other side of the window.  A bell tinkled somewhere from within. 

   Draco paused. “Hello?” he called against the mid-summer storm as water spattered on the wooden floorboards.

   Harry Potter’s head snapped up from where he was wiping down the last of the espresso cups behind the bar.  “Who’s there?” he snapped, pushing his glasses up his nose as he stood straight.  _Damn it,_ he cursed inwardly as he realised some bedraggled vagabond had just stumbled through his front door at gone midnight.  _This is why you don’t close up alone._

    He slammed the little cup down, still dripping, and flung his tea-towel over his shoulder as he rounded the bar.  “We’re closed-” he began to bark as the intruder took a step in, the door swinging shut behind him.  He was sopping wet, in nothing much more than jeans and a t-shirt that clung to his frame like a work of art, and Harry stopped in his tracks.  The guy was about his age, mid-twenties, with white blond hair and biceps that flexed rather unfairly as he held his arms up suddenly and palmed his hands forwards, eyebrows shooting skywards.

   “Sorry,” Draco stuttered.  “I’m so sorry, I know you’re probably closed.”  He eyed all the wooden chairs upended and perched on round tables with red and white chequered tablecloths.  “But I just…”  The rainwater was running in his face, so he huffed out, like a disgruntled horse, flicking his hair clear from his eyes and dropleting water all over the place.  “I couldn’t trouble you to-?”

   Harry’s eyes widened as he took in the other man.  “Good lord, are you alright?” he asked.

   Draco swallowed.  “I got into a spot of bother.”  He admitted as thunder rumbled in the distance.  “I was just hoping-”  But the dark haired guy with the glasses didn’t let him finish.  The place had mood lighting, like you’d expect of a restaurant of an evening, so apparently he felt compelled to lurch forwards and inspect Draco closer in the mock candlelight. 

   “What happened?” he asked, reaching for Draco’s left eye.

   He flinched and the waiter or whatever he was dropped his hand.  “I just, I was hoping if I could possibly use your phone?”  He didn’t really want to get into it, he was embarrassed as well as still being pretty furious. 

   Harry’s jaw set uncomfortably looking at the black eye and cut lip swelling on the man’s face before him, and he sidestepped him to look outside the restaurant’s windows.  “Who did this to you?”

   The blond guy sighed.  “You don’t have to worry,” he said.  “They’re not following me, your place is safe.”

   Harry, who had just swung open the front door to get a proper look, turned back in surprise.  Did this guy think he cared about his property over someone’s safety?  “Wait there,” he said, heading out into the night, the rain smacking him in the face.  He relaxed, looking over his glasses and letting his eyes adjust, waiting to see if any of the shadows twitched in the darkness.  There was nothing, and once he was satisfied he pulled the door open again to enter the bistro, locking it properly as soon as he was inside.

   He pulled his glasses off and wiped them on the drier part of his jeans.  “Let me see?” he said as he put them back on and turned around, but the blond guy blinked and took a step backwards as Harry tried to inspect his face.

   “Honestly,” he said, looking fervently at the restaurant’s wooden panelled walls and mock Parisian décor.  “I’m sorry, I just-”

   “Hey,” said Harry like he was trying to calm a spooked horse.  “Hey, it’s okay, you’re right I don’t think there’s anyone out there now so you’re safe.  Let me get you some ice – please,” he swiped a chair from its upside down position and plonked it on the floor.  “Take a seat.”

   The blond man looked stricken at the chair, then at Harry.  “But,” he said, patting down the jeans that were clinging to every inch of his well-toned thighs.  “I’m all…wet?”

   Harry could see that.  In fact, he could see quite a lot of this stranger through his drenched clothes, but acknowledging this poor young man was obviously in a state of distress, took the noble path and swallowed that observation without comment.  Otherwise he might honestly have swooned. 

   “Fair point,” he said, not in a rush to destroy any of his upholstery.  “Just, give me a second, don’t move.”

   He wasn’t really sure where he thought the blond guy might go, back out into the rain?  But it felt necessary to say as he turned and left him alone. 

   Draco watched as the other man walked past the bar, into a door on the left and out of sight.  He could hear himself splattering, and he swiped his hands down his arms, legs and face in an attempt to dislodge as much rainwater in one foul swoop, getting the damage over as soon as possible.  He pushed his stupid hair out of his eyes again and shivered in his puddle. 

   It hadn’t been his intention to cause anyone any trouble, he’d got himself into this state. He’d just hoped he could have used a phone.  Maybe that’s what the black haired guy had gone to get?  He just wanted this night to be over with.

   Harry turned left again into the men’s bathroom, heading directly towards the locked store cupboard, fingering the keys from his jeans as he did.  _What if this guy was trouble?_ he reasoned logically.  He was just assuming he’d been attacked, what if he was into drugs, or part of one of the Hackney gangs?  But Harry shook his head.  This man seemed nothing but scared and upset; someone had obviously hurt him on purpose. 

   The anger bubbled up in him and he yanked the cupboard door open with a bit more force than he should have.  _It’s okay,_ he soothed himself.  _Getting mad won’t help, there’s no one around to punish.  He’s not you, Potter, he’s just some stranger.  Don’t make it your problem._

   He took a breath and grabbed three of the towels before locking the cupboard again.  He pushed through both the doors that led back to the bar area, glanced right to make sure the blond guy was still there, then turned left into the kitchen. 

He knew he was tired, he acknowledged this as he pulled open the freezer and searched the drawers for an ice tray.  It had been a long day, he’d pulled in extra hours after three of his staff had called in sick with that summer cold going round.  He didn’t blame them, he didn’t want their germs around him or his food, but running about cooking, serving _and_ managing meant he was perhaps not in the best state of mind to be dealing with a wayward stray.  No matter how handsome he was.

   He found the ice and closed up the freezer.  He dropped the dirty tea-towel he’d slung over his shoulder earlier into one of the laundry bins and seized a fresh one from the drawer to his right.  He draped it over the relatively clean counter before dumping the ice from the tray into the middle and wrapping it up.  He turned and grabbed a rolling pin from where it had been drying on the rack, and began to smash the ice into tiny little bits, satisfaction washing over him with every crash.  He may not be able to do anything about whoever fucked up that guy’s face, but this ice didn’t stand a chance. 

   After his therapeutic bashing session, Harry felt better, his thoughts clearer.  He couldn’t take this guy’s problems upon himself.  He’d just be a good Samaritan and help him on his way.  He wasn’t going to do either of them any good by dragging up his own demons, he shouldn’t get involved any more than he had to.

   But as he re-entered the dining area Harry knew he was kidding himself a little bit, as the other guy jumped at his reappearance and rubbed the back of his neck.  Harry guessed he was slightly taller than himself, but he looked small and vulnerable in the low lighting with the rain cascading down the windows behind him. 

   “Look,” the blond man started, hugging himself.  “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble-”

   “Don’t be silly,” Harry cut him off, his tone warm but firm.  He pulled out the chair he’d right-ended and folded one of the clean towels into the seats, then draped the other over the back.  “Now, will you sit and tell me what happened?” He held the final towel out to his dripping guest, and the blond eyed it and Harry warily, before accepting it and sitting in the chair.

   “Thanks.  It was nothing really,” Draco muttered, rubbing at his head, feeling smaller by the minute from embarrassment and guilt.  “Really,” he tried again as the other bloke upended another bloody chair and sat opposite him.  “I just, I mean, I’d like to use your phone, if it’s not too much trouble…”

   He knew he was repeating himself, but this guy had emerald eyes like he’d never seen before.  It was actually a joke.  Draco just kept towelling at his hair, until he realised a glass of water had been placed in front of him on the little round table, and he lowered his hands, figuring he was probably about as dry as he was going to get.

   “Here,” the guy said, gently pressing a tea-towel to his eye with several smashed up ice-cubes wrapped inside.  “And take these.”  Draco looked down at the two white tablets in the guy’s palm, and raised his good eyebrow. 

   Harry bit back the scepticism he felt roll off the blond man.  It was validated, he guessed; he wouldn’t take pills from a stranger.  So once he had taken the ice from Harry to hold up to his own face, Harry spun around again and fished out the little cardboard packet from where he’d thrown it on the counter.  “Ibuprofen,” he said.  “To help with the swelling.”  He held it up, and the guy prised two new tablets from the foil clumsily with his right hand.

   “Thanks,” the blond said genuinely as he swallowed them, giving a lop-sided grin that might have been because of the split lip, but was so illuminating Harry had to guess it was his usual.  He realised he was staring, and coughed. 

   “Lucky you caught me closing up,” he said to fill the silence, but the man dropped his smile immediately and looked troubled. 

   “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, straightening up.  “You were literally the only place with the lights on.”  The hand with the ice pack fell to the table with a crunch suddenly.  “And you’re not even open.  But there were these little fuckers, and I mean _little.”_

   The blond jammed his free right hand at shoulder height indignantly and his words came tumbling out all in one breath.  “I’d been at the pub with my mates, and it got late, and they were getting a taxi their way, but that’s opposite to me, they _insisted_ I stay with them but I just wanted to go home, you know, so I said I knew where the night bus was, the number 8 I think goes from round here, and I was on my phone, like a twat, using maps and trying to use my t-shirt to hide it from the rain-”

   “When you got mugged.”  It wasn’t too hard to guess, and sadly Harry knew all too well what the other side of a good kicking looked like.

   Draco blinked at the guy with the frameless glasses.  “Yeah,” he said, a little defeated.  “There were three of them, like I said, not very big, only kids, shouted they wanted my phone.  I told them to fuck off, tried to push through them, but, well.”  He looked a little sheepish.   “One of them made a grab.”

   Harry raised his eyebrows.  “Then?”

   “I might possibly have punched him in the face.”

   Harry tried not to snort.  It wasn’t funny. 

   “Then they may have started punching back.  I swear, they were probably in their _school uniforms_ for goodness sake” the blond grinned in self-deprecation, then winced suddenly as his lip threatened to split again. 

   “Hey, don’t do that,” Harry hissed in concern, grabbing the ice from the table to hold it up to his lip.  His fingers were practically brushing his skin, and suddenly Harry felt hot.

   The man came to his rescue though.  “Thanks,” he said, taking over holding the tea-towel in place.  He shrugged.  “So,” he said nonchalantly, like he got mugged all the time.  “I ended up on the floor, and they kicked the crap out of me a bit before taking my phone, my wallet, everything.”

   “Shit,” said Harry, rather ineloquently.

   “Tell me about it,” said the guy.

   “So, they didn’t just kick your face, did they?” he said after a moment or two, and Draco winced.

   “Mate,” he said, hoping to placate the dark-haired guy, but he seemed oblivious. 

   “Do you need to go to hospital?” he said, standing up from his chair with force and moving over to inspect his torso.  Before Draco could do anything, the other man’s hands were skimming over his chest through his wet t-shirt.

   “Ribs don’t seem broken,” was what Harry said out loud.  What he was thinking was, _bloody hell, this guy works out._   He was practically sculpted, and inappropriate thoughts flitted immediately across his mind.

   Draco wasn’t really expecting the rather handsome stranger to put his hands on him, and didn’t resist purely out of shock.  But after a moment or too that wore off, and he cleared his throat.

   “Just bruised I think,” he said and hissed as the other guy hit a particularly tender patch.

   “Are you sure?” he asked, looking up at Draco with concern.  “I’ve got my car, I could-”

   “I’m _fine,”_ he insisted.  The dark hair guy flinched and drew back, and Draco felt a flush of guilt.  This guy was being extraordinarily nice when he didn’t have to at all, Draco could be less of a twat about it.  “I’d just really love a phone, so I could call the police.”  He smiled, hoping to pull off bravado when he kind of felt like crying.  Funnily enough, ‘nice’ was making him feel worse about it all.  He didn’t want sympathy, he wanted practicality.  “If I can report the theft right away, it’ll make my insurance claim much easier, especially with my mobile.”  But the black haired guy didn’t look all that happy. 

   “Hang on a sec,” he said, and Draco watched as he stood and went out back once more.

   Harry let the door to the kitchen shut behind him, and stood for a moment as he rubbed his temples.  His hands were shaking slightly so he breathed slowly in and out until his heart was pounding fractionally less in his ears.  It was understandable, he guessed, after all he went through at school, that he should be unusually sympathetic to seeing this guy hit black and blue.  It wasn’t that bad of a beating he acknowledged, it was more the psychological shock he knew that came from being attacked. 

   But he also knew his anger could be misinterpreted, and he didn’t want the man thinking it was directed at him.  So he shook out his hands and resolved to focus on only solutions now, not problems. 

   He retrieved his mobile phone from where he’d left it lying around by the hob earlier, then fished out the first aid kit from a drawer.  It was a mess as usual, but he found the tube of cream he was looking for soon enough.

   The man had finished his glass of water by the time Harry came back, and had the ice pressed to his eye once more.  “I’m Harry, by the way,” he said as he sat down, placing the phone on the table.  “I’ve taken the lock off, so you can call whoever you want.”

   He smiled and was pleased to see the stranger smile back.  “Thank you,” he said sincerely, and held out his hand to shake.  “I’m Draco.”

   Draco was used to getting a reaction when he introduced himself, and the guy with the glasses, Harry, didn’t disappoint.  His hand stilled mid-shake and his mouth fell open a little.  He had lovely full lips, Draco noticed as he laughed.

   “Yeah, I know, it’s not the most usual name.”

   “Can’t say I’ve heard it before,” Harry grinned as he took his hand back, and Draco was grateful.  You never knew who was going the take the piss.

   “My mum’s a Latin professor,” Draco explained.  “It means dragon, so I’m not quite sure what she was thinking when she named me that.  Probably still high on gas and air.”

   Harry cocked an eyebrow.  “It could have been worse,” he conceded.  “At least she didn’t call you Smaug or something.”

   Draco blinked, and Harry wondered if he’d embarrassed himself, but the other man seemed impressed.  “Tolkien fan?” he asked.

   “Sort of,” Harry admitted.  “More Benedict Cumberbatch.”

   The horror probably showed on his face.  _Oh nice one Potter,_ he screamed internally.  _Do straight guys say things like that?  You might as well shout it out._   He didn’t know this man from Adam, he might not appreciate a remark like that.

   Draco grinned though, and lounged back in his now slightly soggy chair.  “Ah,” he said, taking the ice away from his face and gently touching his eye.  “Our Benedict is quite the crumpet now isn’t he?”

   Harry wasn’t too certain what to make of that reply, but Draco hadn’t looked at him in disgust or called him a poof, so he allowed himself to relax a little bit.  “Er, so,” he held up the tube of cream.  “This is Arnicare, great for bruises.  Once you’re dry you can use as much as you like, I’ve got a few of these lying around.”

   Draco considered the man before him, and reached out to take the cream.  “Thanks,” he said.  “You certainly know your first aid.”  There was something a little sad there, a little hesitant, he could tell. 

   Harry forced himself to grin.  _Little gaylords learn quickly at schools like mine,_ he thought.  _First they learn to heal.  Then they learn to fight back._

   “Well the amount of accidents that happen around here,” was what he said out loud.  “I have to look after the minions – even when they call in sick and leave me to lock up by myself.”

   Draco decided he’d probably had the ice on his face long enough and put it down on the table.  “You the boss or something?” he asked impressed.  Harry seemed pleased by this, and smiled.  Draco was going to have to watch himself.  He was becoming a little enthralled with those lips.

   “This is my place,” Harry said.  “I was lucky, one of the sous-chefs I trained under decided he had too many restaurants to manage, so offered it to me for a bargain.”

   “Wow,” said Draco, looking around again with renewed interest.  “I barely make it to the office on time with matching socks, and here you’ve got your own business.”

   Harry cleared his throat.  “It’s just a little place,” he said uncomfortably.  “We do alright.”  Draco wasn’t sure why he was being so bashful, but he decided not to push the matter.

   “I guess I should call the police,” he said, picking up Harry’s phone.  “Get out of your hair.”

   Harry blinked at the sudden change in topic.  “Oh, call who you like,” he insisted.  He had to admit he wasn’t exactly desperate for this guy to get out of his hair just yet.  “Battery is pretty full.  Our address is here,” he added, fishing a menu out from a nearby holder.  “In case you need it.”

   Draco smiled at him, and Harry thought, _yes, he could let him hang around just a little longer._   So much for not getting too involved.

   “Thanks,” said Draco.  “You’ve been a real life saver.”

   Harry stood, in two minds about what he was going to say.  _Bollocks to it,_ he thought.  _Life’s too short._   “How about I give you some privacy for a minute?  I could make us some tea.”

   “Er,” Draco said, guiltily.  “That’s really nice of you, but I don’t actually drink tea.”

   Harry feigned outrage.  “I’m surprised they haven’t revoked your passport for that,” he told him.

   Draco laughed, properly, and something squirmed in Harry’s abdomen.  “I know, it’s an affront to the queen herself.”

   “Coffee then?” Harry tried.  “To warm you up.”

   Draco ran his hand through his hair, unplastering it from his head and ruffling it up into a sort of halo.  “I think the caffeine might shred what’s left of my nerves.” 

   Draco cursed inwardly.  He should have just said yes!  He could have not drunk the blasted thing, he was being rude!  _Sod that, he was missing an opportunity to stay longer._

   Harry nodded and drummed his fingers on the back of his chair.  _One last attempt,_ he thought.  _Then I’ll take the hint._   “Well,” he said.  “There’s a rather nice bottle of _Châteauneuf-du-Pape_ out back that I was thinking might-” he tilted his head and raised his eyes to the ceiling.  “Have an unfortunate accident.”

   Draco gave him that lop-sided grin again.  “You’d swipe a bottle of your own wine?”

   Harry felt his insides warm.  “Hey, these things happen,” he said, holding his hands up in his defence.

   Draco took in the restaurant owner properly; his crisp white shirt, his well-fitting soft blue jeans, the leather belt that matched the tan colour of his loafers.  “Well,” he said raising his eyebrows.  “It would be rude to let something like that go to waste.”  He was pretty sure he was still talking about the wine. 

   Harry tried not to let his glee show as his heart leapt in his chest.  “Indeed,” he agreed.  He nudged the phone over to Draco and smiled.  “Take your time, I’ll be back.”

   He walked casually out into the store cupboards, wanting to get a bottle that was exactly the right temperature, and tried to make himself calm down.  “He’s just been mugged,” he whispered to himself as he looked for his favourite vintage amongst the racks and ignored the fifty quid loss he was giving himself.  “He’s probably straight, don’t get your hopes up.”  But it wasn’t much use.  He kept picturing that half grin, the soft, almost translucent hair, the way he’d made him laugh.  Harry hadn’t had a date in a long while, and even if this wasn’t a date, it would be nice to share a drink with a bloke in possession of such excellent cheekbones. 

   He dawdled, making sure the two glasses he picked were utterly smudge free.  He went for his favourites, the large delicate ones with substantial bowls.  That way you could pour only an inch or so of wine and still give it plenty of room to breathe.

   After five minutes or so of slowly uncorking the bottle, he returned to the restaurant, the rain still pattering softly against the windows.  But was dismayed to find Draco looking forlorn, toying listlessly with his phone.  “What’s wrong?” he asked in concern, carefully placing the open bottle and two glasses down on the table.  “What did the police say?”

   “Oh it’s not that,” said Draco, rousing his spirits and looking up at Harry with a smile.  He took that as a cue that he was okay to sit down and decant the wine, so he did.  “They were great, I need to go down and make a statement tomorrow and they’ll do what they can.  It’s just…” he fingered the stem of the glass Harry had put in front of him.  He didn’t want to act like a prat in front of some guy he’d just met, but he couldn’t seem to swallow the lump in his throat.  “They asked me how long ago it happened, and that’s when I realised those little shits took my watch too.”

   He ground his teeth and flicked his gaze back up to see Harry’s emerald eyes widen in sympathy.  “I’m sorry,” he said, but Draco shook his head, eager to clarify. 

   “It wasn’t expensive, it really wasn’t worth much at all.  But it was from my mum, she doesn’t earn much teaching and it’s just the two of us you know, it was a graduation gift.”

   He sighed and rubbed his eyes, before throwing his hands down and letting out a guttural snarl.  Harry bit his lower lip.  Now wasn’t the time for the tale of poor arryHHarry the orphan, but he felt Draco’s remorse quite keenly.  “Fuck those little shits,” he said emphatically and held up his wine glass.  “Here’s hoping they O.D. on whatever cheap smack they trade your phone in for.”

   It could have been the wrong thing to say, but Draco barked out another one of his delicious laughs and held up his own glass with fingers Harry realised were beautifully long and slim.  “Too right.  Fuck them and their bloody ASBOs.”

   The wine was very good indeed.  Draco normally just got the house red when they went out, as in his opinion that was crazy money anyway when you considered the same bottle was probably only a fiver down the supermarket, but he had to admit this was pretty special.  “You certainly know your plonk,” he said to Harry.  His buzz from the earlier beers down the pub was already back, humming softly round his head, and he felt a little better about losing his watch.

   “Well I do run a restaurant,” Harry said with a wink.  Draco licked his lips, tasting the wine and realising he was fixating on Harry’s mouth again.  And his green eyes.  Oh lord.

   “So,” he said, taping a well-manicured nail on Harry’s phone.  Harry never bothered with his nails other than keeping them short for work, and now he sort of wished he did.  “I checked the number 8 and it does go from round the corner, about five minutes’ walk from here, and the next one’s in about half an hour.”

   He smiled but Harry couldn’t hide his mild horror.  “You’re still going to get the night bus?” he said.  “In this weather?”  As if to prove his point lightning forked across the sky and thunder boomed not far off.

   Draco blinked.  “Well, yeah,” he said.  “I’ve got no money for a cab, and they may have got my oyster card but night buses are free aren’t they?”

   Harry swallowed his sip of wine.  “I know it’s late, but couldn’t someone come pick you up, I don’t mind keeping the place open, your mum maybe?”

   To his surprise, Draco laughed.  “I don’t know anyone’s number,” he admitted.  “Isn’t that stupid?  Not a single one, I barely remembered my own, and my mum moved recently so I just changed it on the phone and never bothered to memorise it.”  He took another sip of his wine and then grinned at Harry, but it didn’t quite reach his grey eyes.  “So the number 8 it is.”

   Harry obviously didn’t look impressed at that, because Draco waved his hand dismissively.  “It’s fine,” he insisted.  “It gets me pretty near home.”

   Harry though was feeling protective, and couldn’t help but look at his watch.  Damn it, if he’d said something earlier he could have maybe driven him, but he was pretty sure he was already over the limit.  This wine was quite strong.  “It’s almost 1am,” he said.  “On a Saturday night.  You’ve already met one lot of weirdoes – do you even still have your keys?”

   Draco frowned, and Harry guessed not.  “My housemate can let me in,” he said though.  “I’m sure I can wake him up if I bang loud enough.”

   But Harry shook his head.  He wasn’t having that.  “Look,” he said as he topped up their glasses.  “My flat is right above, it’s part of the restaurant.  You can sleep on the couch, I can lend you some clothes whilst your ones dry and then I’ll drive you to the police station in the morning.”

   Draco stared at Harry, guilt creeping up through his innards that washed away his alcohol buzz and any lustful thoughts he’d been brewing in one fell swoop.  “Harry,” he said, fingertip gliding uneasily up the cool stem of the glass. “You’ve already helped me out so much.”

   “Which is why I couldn’t possibly send you packing back out into the rain with nothing but the shirt on your back.  Literally.”  He raised an eyebrow.  “So what do you say?”

   Draco swallowed and licked his lips.  “I’d pay you back,” he began, but Harry waved him off.

   “Don’t even think about it,” he said. 

   Draco could see he was really sincere, and blew out a breath in defeat.  “Alright,” he said, and relief filled him up at not having to trek it home for hours only to end up sleeping on his own doorstep.  “I know I’ve said it a hundred times already, but thank you so much.”  He picked up his glass again.  “You really are my own White Knight.”

   Harry scoffed and stood, picking up his glass and the bottle.  “You’re hardly the damsel in distress,” he said. 

   “I don’t know,” said Draco playfully, arching the eyebrow on the good side of his face.  “I can be a right queen bitch when I want to be.”

   Harry laughed, and Draco liked how that made him feel.  “Come on your highness,” Harry said.  “Let me show you up.  You can have a shower if you like to warm you up, and I’ll finish closing the place down.”

   “A shower would be nice,” Draco admitted as he followed Harry through the back of the restaurant, and something clenched inside him as they pushed through the door at the back of the store room and up a flight of stairs.  _Behave,_ Draco scalded himself.  _Just because you’re going to be sleeping in his flat doesn’t mean anything’s going to happen.  He might not even be gay!_

  Draco was actually pretty sure he was, but he still didn’t let himself get too hopeful as he watched Harry stop in front of the door at the top of the steps and pull out some keys.  Even if he was, he’d been nothing but kind and generous towards Draco, and here he was thinking of repaying him by jumping his bones.  He was such a slut.

   “It’s not much,” Harry admitted as he flicked some of the lights on.  He wished he’d tidied up a bit, but there was nothing he could really do about that now.

   Draco stepped over the door’s threshold and took in the small apartment.  It was open plan, with the kitchen on the left and doors to the bathroom and bedroom on the right.  But the windows behind the sofa in front of them looked out over what Draco guessed to be Vicky Park, and even in the dark it made it feel very spacious.

   Harry seemed to be a bit of a Francophile, which wasn’t too surprising considering he ran a French bistro.  He had beautiful posters of the Eiffel Tower and Champs Elysees framed on his wall, as well as those famous retro _Au Chat Noir_ and _Moulin Rouge_ postcards pinned on his fridge.  There were mismatching throws on the sofa, and magazines and guide books strewn over his coffee table.  Draco had a mental image of Harry backpacking through Europe, trying local dishes, getting recipe ideas for his restaurant, and he swallowed the lump that was suddenly in his throat. 

   “It’s lovely,” he said quietly. 

   Harry looked bashful and rubbed the back of his neck, his glasses glinting in the lamplight.  “Like I said, I got really lucky, getting this place.”

   Draco was starting to suspect he was really in trouble here.  Harry’s humility was truly endearing.  He snapped himself out of his reverie before he did something embarrassing, and took another sip of the wine that was warming his blood quite nicely.  “Well,” Draco declared.  “I live in a shoebox in Farringdon above a terrifying Chinese woman with several cats and a late-night karaoke bar across the road.”  He winked at Harry.  “You win.”

   Harry tried to take the compliment, but he was still anxious that his home wasn’t good enough.  Why was he so preoccupied with Draco’s approval, he’d only met him an hour ago?

   He didn’t have people over often he guessed.  His best mate Ron lived with his girlfriend Hermione, and they always insisted on having him round to fuss over him and let someone else cook for him for a change.  And as for guys…

   He cleared his throat.  “I’ll just grab you some things,” he said, and hurried into his bedroom.  Before he did anything, he scooped up some of the clothes from the floor and chucked them in the wash basket.  _Why?_ he berated himself. _Are you expecting him to come in here?_   Harry decided not to answer himself. 

   He re-emerged to find Draco had topped both their glasses up and was inspecting Harry’s bookcase.  He was ashamed to admit it was mostly full of trashy high fantasy, tales of sorcerers in mystic lands with dragons and elves and not a small amount of smuttiness between knights and virgins.  “Are you one of those insufferable people,” Draco began with a playful smile.  “Who read Game of Thrones before it was all cool?”

   Harry pushed his glasses up from where they’d slipped and arched an eyebrow.  “Be nice to me,” he warned.  “Or I’ll tell you who dies next.”

   Draco shuddered.  “Gods no, anything but that.”

   Harry held out his offering of a towel, clean clothes and even a spare toothbrush he’d forgotten he’d bought.  “Here you go,” he said, and Draco placed his wine down to accept.

   “Help yourself to anything in the bathroom,” Harry carried on as Draco looked at what he’d given him, then trailed off when he realised he was holding something up. 

   “You even gave me socks?”

   Harry shrugged, trying for nonchalance.  “My feet get cold.  I always have to have socks.”

   Draco knew he was staring, but the word _‘adorable’_ was wafting around his brain like a bumblebee in a honeysuckle.  “Right,” he said finally, regaining his senses.  “I’ll just have a quick shower.  Will it take long to sort out the restaurant?”

   Harry wasn’t sure if he’d made a mistake with the socks.  They were clean, but maybe Draco thought that was a bit too intimate.  Or just gross.  Well, he didn’t have to wear them if he didn’t want to.  “About fifteen minutes?” he guessed.  He really had about half an hour’s work left to do, but what was the point of dragging in several minions tomorrow if not to give himself a bit of a break after holding down the fort all evening. 

   “See you then,” said Draco, and headed to the bathroom.

 

xxx

 

   The hot water was doing wonders for Draco’s cold skin and slowly developing bruises.  He was lucky really, those little fucks had all been wearing Converse.  If they’d had proper trainers on, or even boots, he probably would be in the hospital right now.  He rubbed his hair and the water bounced off him, massaging his sore muscles.  He hoped Harry wouldn’t be mad at him for wasting so much water, but he couldn’t seem to speed up.

   He was able to reflect on how much his evening had changed in only a couple of hours.  Finding himself on the wrong end of those kids’ feet had felt pretty damn awful at the time, but when he considered it he was extremely lucky they’d not had any knives, and they’d only really got a few swings in each before getting bored and scarpering off on their BMXs.  And if he hadn’t been attacked, he wouldn’t have stumbled upon Harry to come to his rescue.

   Was it too much to hope, that they could maybe be friends after this? 

   Draco shook his head.  He’d just have to be patient.  He didn’t want to push the other guy, but he hoped perhaps he wasn’t imagining the connection he felt between them.

   Harry seemed to pick his shower products based on colour rather than anything else; everything was a sort of an autumnal orange, all the lotions and gels, even the hand towels.  Draco wondered if that was on purpose to match the _Au Chat Noir_ posters, or by accident.  If it was on purpose he felt it supported his Team Gay theory. 

   The shower gel he was using was a spicy orange scent, and Draco couldn’t help but imagine that’s how Harry smelled.  That they would smell the same, be immersed in the same fragrance; it sparked something in him.  The wine and the hot steam in the room were making his head swirl, and he found his thoughts drifting to a place where Draco got used to spicy oranges, used to having them around, used to his clothes surprising him with their perfume every now and again. 

   And then he found his hand dropping below his waist, imagining Harry wasn’t downstairs after all but rather a lot closer.  He wondered what he would look like with water running down his face and glistening orange suds slipping over his skin.

   Draco promised himself he would take it slow with this man he had just met, that there might not even be anything there at all.  But for the next few minutes, he imagined there was a great deal indeed.

 

xxx

 

   Harry wasn’t doing as well as he’d hoped.  He’d had to count up the till three times now and he still wasn’t convinced he’d got it right.  _Sod it,_ he thought.  He already knew he was out about fifty pounds thanks to that wine he’d recklessly opened, but it had been worth it, so he couldn’t bring it on himself to care.  The counters had all had a quick wipe down and he had people coming in tomorrow early to deal with the delivery, so as he deposited the day’s takings into the safe he reckoned he could probably call it quits.  He’d been gone about twenty minutes and he hoped Draco wasn’t bored.  He had some more of his own wine upstairs, and now he was thinking he should have opened it to let it breathe.  Or maybe Draco was already asleep, maybe he was too late?

   Harry’s insides ran cold as he double checked the locks and flicked off the last of the lights.  He’d be pretty disappointed if that was the case.  He’d hoped he could maybe get to know him a little more, beyond the incident this evening.  What did he do for a living, where did he grown up, _what was his last name?_

   His heart was definitely beating a little harder as he ascended the stairs back to his flat.  What if he was imagining the whole thing and after tomorrow Draco just said thanks and wasn’t interested in seeing him again.  He sighed.  He wasn’t going to find out hanging around on the stairs.

   Before he’d even opened the door he heard the hairdryer was going, but he wasn’t prepared to be met with the sight of Draco stood in his living room, dressed solely in Harry’s navy joggers, drying his white-blond hair and looking out the window into the darkness of Victoria Park.  He was beautiful.  Even with the faint purple hints of bruising coming through on the sides of his torso, his skin was pale and perfect, moving over well-defined muscles.  He had good posture and the curve of his shoulders was like that of a swimmer.  Harry blamed the wine when he instantly imagined what it would be like to cling on to those shoulders.

   The hair dryer clicked off as Draco suddenly spotted Harry in the window’s reflection.  _Shit,_ he’d meant to put his t-shirt on, he really had, he’d just got a bit late after his…time…in the shower and not wanted to put it on until his hair was dry and the Arnicare had absorbed into his skin.  And now here he was, damp hair, no shirt, looking like he’d been caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. 

   “I found this in the bathroom cabinet,” he said stupidly, holding up the hairdryer.  “I hope it was alright to borrow?”

   Harry realised, yet again, that he was staring.  His mouth might even have been open.  “Sure, of course,” he stuttered, trying to remind himself that this was actually his flat and he needed to play it a little cooler unless he wanted to make a fool of himself.  He turned the lock on the door and dropped his keys into the bowl on the side table.  “You find everything okay?”

   Draco decided to abandon his hair, and began winding the cord around the dryer before pulling the plug from the wall to return it to the bathroom.  “Yeah great thanks,” he said honestly.  “I feel so much better now.”

   Harry watched him pop out of sight for a second, and he knew he let a moment of panic slip onto his face.  What should he do, how did you entertain guys in your flat?  It was different from uni where you usually just fell back through the door after a night out, snogging, and generally aimed yourself at the bed.

   Draco re-emerged, t-shirt now on, which Harry thought was a minor travesty, but of course he kept his mouth shut.

   “I guess you’re pretty tired,” he said before he could think, then cursed himself profusely.  _Why didn’t he just admit defeat now!_

   Draco thought for a split second Harry was saying he was done for the night, but he decided to push his luck.  “Actually, he said, spinning round to fetch his empty glass from the coaster on the table (which read _Je ne parle pas Francais_.)  “I was hoping for a top up?” 

   He knew he didn’t imagine the look on Harry’s face; happiness?  Relief?  Whatever it was Draco was glad he’d taken a chance. 

   “Sure,” breathed Harry, going round the island that marked the divide between living room and kitchen.  His heart was singing.  More wine meant at least another half an hour of talking.  _Maybe he should put some music on?_ he thought and he crouched down and skimmed his eyes along his own wine rack inside the island.  _What was cool, what might Draco like?_

   “How about a Pinot Noir?” he asked as he stood, then almost dropped the bottle as he realised Draco was leaning over the counter, watching him, and they were now almost face to face.

   A smile twitched at his lips.  “Sounds fabulous,” he said.  He was happy Harry didn’t seem mad he’d finished off their first bottle whilst he’d been downstairs. 

   He watched as Harry relaxed a little and opened a cupboard to get two new wine glasses.  Draco wouldn’t have thought of that, he would have just used the old ones and mixed the different grapes, which would probably be quite vulgar to Harry.  The idea of irritating Harry like that amused him further.

   “What?” Harry asked, noticing the smile lighting up Draco’s grey eyes. 

   “Nothing,” he replied, but he still had that lop-sided grin, and Harry’s insides threatened to liquefy. 

   He popped the cork and sniffed it, frowning at Draco.  “You’re laughing at me,” he teased.

   Draco held his hands up, like he had done when he’d first stumbled into Harry’s bistro, and grinned even further.  Just on that one side though, without the cut. 

   “I’m not I swear,” Draco insisted, coming around the counter and resting his back against it.  _I just think you’re quite cute,_ he wanted to say.  He watched Harry pour them quite generous glasses, which was a good promise for stretching the night out a little further, then picked one up for himself and handed the other to Draco.

   “Cheers,” he said.  “To an unusual night.”

   Draco quirked an eyebrow.  “To my White Knight,” he said, and touched their glasses lightly, so they rang out like a bell.

   Harry rolled his eyes as he swirled the wine in his glass, inhaled the aroma, then took a little sip as he breathed in through his slightly parted lips.  _Oh those bloody lips._  

   “You know,” he said, as Draco reformed his thoughts.  “Knights traditionally slay dragons.”

   Draco felt his heart rate increase.  He knew there was no going back now.  “Yeah?” he said, pushing off the counter so he was just resting his right hip against it, and he and Harry were now facing each other.  “Well, I’m not exactly a traditional boy.”

   _Traditional…what?  Could he be any more clichéd?_ He rolled with it though, probably in part due to the smooth red wine slipping over his tongue. 

   “Really?” said Harry softly.  Was he saying what he thought he was saying? He suddenly felt very hot.

   Draco’s eyes were locked with Harry’s emerald ones.  “Yeah,” he said, swallowing his nerves.  “And I could be wrong, but I don’t think you’re one much for tradition either?”

   Harry wasn’t quite sure how his knees hadn’t buckled.  Maybe they were just paralysed with fear.  “Not really,” he admitted.  He breathed in and out, and suddenly, Draco wasn’t quite as far away any more.  It seemed like there were only inches between their faces, and his lips tugged into that lop-sided grin.

   His eyelids were lowered, coppery lashes skimming cheekbones as he focused on Harry’s mouth.  “Thought so,” he whispered, as he closed the final breadth, and softly touched their lips together.

   Harry unceremoniously banged his wine glass onto the counter, freeing both his hands to slip through Draco’s soft, damp hair, their lips fighting as they both fell into the kiss.  His mind whirled as he felt Draco’s hands slide onto his waist, tracing up his back as his tongue pushed through Harry’s lips and tasted the wine lingering in his own mouth.

   The moment stretched forever, and yet was over in an instant as Draco suddenly pulled back, leaving Harry to inhale, bereft.  Their foreheads rested together as they panted, hands entwined in hair, eyes all but closed.  Harry could still see Draco’s mouth though, still see the tender corner where those fuckers had split his lip. 

   He touched it as gently as he could with his thumb.  “Did I hurt you?” he breathed.

   Draco responded by cupping his hand with his own and nuzzling the side of his face into his palm.  “No,” he said, before raising his eyes and giving the smallest of grins.  “Well, maybe a little, but I don’t mind.”

   Harry’s insides flipped over, but Draco didn’t give him a chance before he’d ducked back in for another kiss, pulsing their mouths and tongues together, bumping the bridge of his nose against his glasses, running his hands down Harry’s back and through his hair.  He was a little taller than him, and Harry quite liked the brief glimpses he stole, looking up at this beautiful dragon he’d somehow managed to find in his home in the middle of the night. 

   Draco’s hands were becoming well acquainted with the top half of Harry’s body, and something inside him sang as he leant into the kiss, ignoring the sharp pricks of pain his lip gave him.  He knew who was giving it to him, and he found it sort of exciting.  He was here because of that lip, and that lip had brought him to this moment.  With these lips.

   He gripped against Harry’s white shirt, feeling his body underneath, holding him as he gasped for breaths between kisses.  He had a lithe body, like someone who spent all day running about on their feet, and it wasn’t long before Draco found he wanted more.  Needed more.

   His fingers skimmed around Harry’s waist, not breaking the kiss, but tracing up his chest and fumbling against the buttons hiding that body from him.  _So many fucking buttons!_  But when Harry realised what he was doing he stilled, mouth poised millimetres below his own, as he gave the smallest of nods.  _I give you permission._

   Draco pushed back into the kiss, slowly taking the time to prise each button free.  He really, _really,_ wanted to rip the damn thing apart, but there was something delicious about the wait, about feeling Harry tremble in trepidation under his touch.  “I want you,” he whispered, barely catching breaths between kisses.

    Harry reeled, flooded with sensation at Draco’s words as he reached the final button and spilled Harry’s shirt open, the air hitting his chest he could feel rising and falling heavily under Draco’s persistence.  “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, shaking the shirt off and letting it drop to the floor.  He remembered the sight that had greeted him when he’d entered the flat.  Now he was bare chested, he wasn’t wasting much time in peeling Draco’s top back off.

   Draco’s gave a little gasp as Harry’s fingers worked their way under his shirt, they were cold and the sensation tingled up his spine.  He let Harry move the t-shirt up, let his hands gently explore the areas those ASBO kids had hurt him.  He felt vulnerable, but the trust he had that Harry wouldn’t hurt him further swept through him like wildfire.  He wanted to be vulnerable for him. 

   Harry’s hands reached the top of his ribs, and Draco pulled away from the kiss, raising his arms like a wanted man admitting defeat.  Harry’s green eyes locked with his again as he slipped the t-shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor without a care and running his hands back down Draco’s chest, across his sides, up his back.

   “Do you believe in fate?” he rasped.

   “Right now?” Draco replied, copying Harry’s moves, letting his hands roam, his breathing seeming to drag all the way through his body from his toes through every, single, tingling muscle.  “Fuck yeah.”

   Harry looped his fingers over Draco’s waist band, tugging the joggers he’d leant him and moving towards the bedroom.  “Good,” he smiled into the kiss. 

   Draco let himself be led, their feet stumbling together across Harry’s living room as he kept his hands in that black hair, mouth against those full lips. 

   Harry pushed open the door and left it like that.  It gave enough light so he could see Draco, but not enough so Draco could see the mess that was scattered about the floor, or on the drawers…or falling out of the wardrobe.  He felt a laugh rise through his chest, knowing it vibrated against Draco’s lips without anything he could do.  “What?” Draco hissed, pulling at Harry’s belt.

   “Nothing,” Harry mimicked from his words earlier. 

   “Good,” Draco mimicked right back. 

   They tumbled onto the bed, which was mercifully free of debris.  Harry moulded under the bigger weight of Draco, sinking into the mattress as the scramble against his jeans continued.  Harry took the opportunity to slip his hands below the joggers, and just like he’d hoped, Draco had neglected to add any boxers. 

   Draco’s mirth thrummed through his throat and into Harry’s.  He liked that.  So Harry continued. 

   He ran his hands up and down, kneading Draco’s flesh, hyper aware to feather touch his tender spots, feeling desperate to pay more tribute to other, more sensitive ones, and so his hands slipped from behind to front, groping for Draco’s arousal, making him gasp.

   “Get these fucking jeans off,” he snarled, and Harry laughed, letting him go and yanking at the denim, kicking his loafers of, trying to take the socks with them.

   Draco stilled.  “Keep the socks on,” he growled.

   Harry would have argued blind an hour again that couldn’t have possibly been sexual, but at that moment, pressed underneath his blond dragon, locked with his grey eyes, his heart all but stopped.

   “Is that what knights do?” he whispered, lacing kisses down Draco’s neck.

   Draco grinned, even though he knew Harry couldn’t’ see it.  “It’s what knights do who don’t want to end up burnt to a crisp.”

   “Fair point,” Harry gulped.  He paused a moment, then slipped his fingers around his glasses, casting them aside on the bedside table.

   He was naked now below Draco, aside from the socks.  Draco turned and nestled his elbows either side of his head, resting their bellies together, kicking off the ends of his joggers.  “Are you sure about this?” he whispered.

   “No doubt,” Harry breathed back, cupping his face in his palm. 

   And who was Draco to argue?

 

xxx

 

   Harry stirred, several hours later, when the sun was peeking through the curtains and the clock was still offensively early.  But the wine was gone and every inch of his body ached in the most wonderful way, and he turned to grab his glasses, then folded himself around the boy sleeping next to him, running his fingers through his hair as lightly as he could so as not to wake him. 

   He failed, but then he wasn’t convinced Draco was truly asleep in the first place.  “Are you okay?” he asked softly as the blond boy stirred.

   “Yes,” he said simply, peeking out from under the duvet.  His halo of snow-white hair stilled Harry’s heart, until he realised, at least for that moment, it was all his.  “You?”

   Harry took a moment to smile.  “Perfect,” he said, trailing his fingers down the side of his face, before softly running his thumb along his lower lip. 

   Draco stretched out under him, like a cat, lengthening, posturing, before coiling back under Harry’s watchful eye.  “Did you ever think,” he mused.  “That last night would end up like this?”

   Harry barked out a laugh.  “No, not in a million years,” he admitted.  “But when you came through my door…I hoped.”

   Draco rewarded him with that lop-sided grin.  “You sly dog you,” he admonished.  But Harry cut him off with a slow, long kiss.

   “No,” he told his dragon after a while. 

   “I just have faith in happy ever afters.”

 

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please review! To discover more of my writing, visit www.helenjuliet.com


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